


for me, just clay

by z3ybep



Category: Minecraft (Video Game), Video Blogging RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe - Medieval, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Established Relationship, Hurt/Comfort, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-20
Updated: 2020-12-20
Packaged: 2021-03-10 19:33:29
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,751
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28202412
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/z3ybep/pseuds/z3ybep
Summary: Mumbles of promises, clear as day to the ones who were willing to listen;"I love you," a small smile, a small, pink smile, a small, pink kiss, a small, pink moment of just them.And then, "-and I'll love you forever."Mixed with a bit of "-and I'm going to be here forever."'I'll protect you forever,' Dream used to say. Clay thought expressing his love was enough this time.
Relationships: Clay | Dream & GeorgeNotFound (Video Blogging RPF), Clay | Dream/GeorgeNotFound (Video Blogging RPF)
Comments: 8
Kudos: 55





	for me, just clay

**Author's Note:**

> soo, my first dnf fic and it's surprisingly fluff considering everything i write is angst.. anyways, fell into the dnf hole hard, i'm a sucker for them oh god.
> 
> i might make this into a series? maybe i will write a big fic with this plot one day, knowing myself, i really might. 
> 
> same username on twitter, i'm funny sometimes.

"He said he didn't even know how he did it." 

A reassuring grip on a shoulder, a sudden jump in place, lost in thought. A furrow of brows, the older knew exactly what the younger was thinking about, he knew him by the twitch of his instinctive grip on his knife, he knew him by the flutter of closing eyes, only to calm himself down but both knew closing his eyes never eased his nerves.

It never did. Not back then, and certainly not right now either. 

"Come on, you know he meant well too." 

His voice came off as a smooth melody, the younger was sure it was on purpose, to keep him from not getting even more angry and even though he didn't want to admit, it worked. He didn't really know why, but George would just speak a few words, almost as if he was purring, soft and melodic mixed with his accent and it cooled the blood boiling inside his veins. 

And George obviously knew this too, how softening his voice was probably more effective than any word he could spend on the boy.

A visible release of tension on his shoulders came and went away like a cold breeze, George felt his muscles tense up again under his touch before the boy slowly moved away from the hand on his shoulder. It wasn't intentional, both were aware, but George's hand lingered in the air seconds after, hesitantly pulling it away. The younger one looked hurt. Hurt, angry, scared; like a little boy left in the townhall all alone in the first snow, mother nowhere to be found, siblings long gone, cold and lonely. As if to prove his liking, he shivered slightly where he sat on the bed, shaking his head, and as George also knew, his thoughts away. 

He knew him by the look on his eyes when he looked at him, finally with open eyes, George knew him from the reflection of his image in his eyes, abandoned by the stars that usually occupy himself along with his background. Although there seems to be no stars yet to be seen today, especially after what he had to confess. Guilt mixed with affection, George only wanted to hold him in his arms until everything was far away, only them in the room, no thoughts, no worries, nothing but them. 

"I don't care what he meant and what he did not."

George found himself smiling through the words spat in between gritted teeth and said teeth returning to their torture on his lips immediately after his sentence is finished, biting harsh enough to prevent himself from talking any longer.

The boy did not realize the soft smile on the older's lips though, George was sure if he had seen the almost mocking tone in the smile he managed to erase off of his face just in time, he would've been raging in the room like he was meaning to do. George knew he was trying to be calm and collected -at least look like it- in front of George like he promised to when they were just kids. George knew that if he hadn't been there, if he wasn't the one who delivered the news to him, he would have already gotten his hands dirty. He knew how he wouldn't sleep tonight, he knew he'd wake up tomorrow still grumpy and unrested, he knew he'd be gone the whole day tomorrow just to clear his head. He knew the hesitant way he took his hand away from the dagger to his lap was just to not worry the older any longer. 

George knew. In fact, George knew a lot of things about the boy that he himself didn't even realize.

A small curse under a shaky breath, George couldn't stop himself from smiling another time. "What are you smiling at?" His eyes looked as if they could actually pierce through skin easily but George looked uneffected. Another thing George knew was that if it wasn't him that he was sending death glares to, the person in George's place would probably faint long ago.

"Nothing."

"it's clearly not 'nothing' George," the boy groaned, letting his head fall to his lap. He looked small now that his death glares were hidden in his hands covering his face and his voice sounding fragile than ever, George couldn't help but smile even wider. "You're making fun of me." 

He could picture what his face would look like if he wasn't hiding it between his palms, all scrunched up, the green of his eyes nowhere to be found, eyebrows creased waiting to be kissed flat. George always kissed his eyebrows flat, to the point where the only indication of anger was left to be the boy's slightly softened glare. He always kissed it better. 

Anything. And everything, all at once. 

George stared at his mop of a hair for a long moment before doing or even saying anything else, it had been months since the boy shyly came to him with scissors for his half yearly haircut, he never said anything about growing it out yet George was sure he wouldn't need a mask anymore, since his hair was doing a good job of hiding his eyes, along with the sharp features of his face. He always thought the boy had seen his hair as just something getting in the way but turns out he really did adore it after all. It was quite a mess since he refused to take care of it himself, George didn't know why but had his own predictions of the younger's only reasoning behind not brushing his hair everyday was to make George do it for him. 

"Your hair has gotten long.." His voice came out like a whisper, catching the younger's attention by the reins, head perking up to acknowledge the low tone of the words and actually make sense with them. Eyes looking up to overgrown bangs, brows furrowed even closer and deeper together, a hand resting on his lap reaching out to stretch out a dirty lock in front of his face. George wanted to kiss everything on his face beyond recognition, not just his furrowed brows. 

"You're going off topic," he was once again looking at him, all the concentration in his eyes while looking at his hair gone, all the childishness of blowing his bangs off of his forehead.

Oh how George wanted to kiss him until breathless, until thoughtless, until empty.

"There's no topic to begin with," George said softly, not on purpose this time, sitting next to the boy and pushing his own fingers through his hair this time, long fingers slowly untangling small knots as neither of them dared to look each other in the eye. George kept a hand in his hair, brushing the locks out of his face as he failed to do so before by himself, his eyes exposed to the light from the lanterns now that they were not hiding behind a mop of tangled hair now. 

"He said he was sorry. He won't do it again," he brushed his fingers from the younger's forehead to his nape, the blonde hair following his motions, the small scar near his ear getting exposed.

George leaned back to take a look at the green eyes, his hand creeped down to find the larger one, fingers locking together in a routine way, butterflies lingering at their stomachs but they wouldn't flinch at the sensations of thumbs brushing together anymore like they once did as teenagers, all the feelings foreign and scary. Holding hands in the dark just to justify it as the younger being scared despite their night shifts not being a problem, brushing arms or legs together at the bonfire just for the burning sensation in the pits of their stomachs, aching. Fingers lingering on a sleeping face a tad longer than usual, sleepless nights spent with worry, hugs hidden behind a wall of triumph that actually meant longing, longing; longing for more, longing for togetherness.

"They could've hurt you," a thumb brushing over their locked hands, the younger leaning slightly forward with his eyes on George now, the anger turned down and morphed into something else; not foreign yet still not something George was used to even after all these years: worry. Worry lingering at the silver lines edging his eyes, a little bit of red, a tiny bit of black, lots of green, green, green, lots of green that George was fast to lose himself within the silver linings growing closer and the older knew how worried he must have gotten waiting for him to come back from his watch on the tower, pacing back and forth in the room, head clouded as always, no one to kiss the frowns away, no one, absolutely no one in his little world that only George had access to.

It was always a 'what if' that clouded Dream's mind, always a possibility, for both actually. It was always a possibility of death that poisoned everything from within, that ruined every perfect moment, the feeling of safeness running through veins, it was always that little but maybe not that little possibility that either could wake up in each other's arms and suddenly face the fact that they would never be together again by sunset. It was the possibility of having to come to an empty house the rest of their lives, the possibility of never touching each other again, the possibility of coming to town from night shift and seeing the leaders looking at them a little bit weirder than usual, the kids not playing on the streets, the possibility of Sapnap pulling them into a soul crushing hug and the possibility of the realization finally hitting. The loneliness. The emptiness. 

"But they didn't, Dream," Dream sighed. "It's okay, see?" George was now bringing their hands to his mouth, taking his hand away and pressing his lips on Dream's rough palm, scratched up from holding a sword all day. "I'm okay. I'm here, I'm okay." 

He kissed Dream's hand one more time, resting his palm against his own face and holding it there, letting Dream feel his face, realize that he's actually okay. He could easily understand the base of all of his anger, all his worry. He'd also be worried if his boyfriend didn't show up from his shift even after 3 hours had passed before the time he was usually home. George understood. George already understood everything as he watched Dream's face breaking into another expression, the one which he knew that he was in pain. "I thought you were gone."

And with only that, his frown was kissed right away oh so sweetly, so sweetly that Dream wanted to sob over it the rest of the night and he was embraced into a soul crushing hug; one that reminded him that George was back safe and sound, with the tiniest bruise on his cheek, but okay nonetheless.

"I thought I lost you, idiot," shaky breath taken into burning lungs, George felt Dream leaning even more into him, "I was going to go after you after the first hour but they told me to stay here, that we couldn't let so many people out in danger much. I wouldn't listen to them, you know, they're not you, but Sapnap also told me to wait and you also told me to not go look for you before half a day passes so I kept waiting but- but you didn't come George."

Breathless. not even realizing he was rambling and worse, trembling, Dream leaned away and looked up to see a faint smile on George's lips. He didn't know if it was because of the lighting but it looked sadder than the previous one. 

All the words running aimlessly in his mind rushed into a fraction of a time, revealing more and less than it should, a shameless ramble, an uncontrollable fear finally let out, a soft sigh trying to replace a hurtful sob and George did his best to hug him even tighter, feeling the tall man getting smaller and smaller under his touch, tucked under his chin and shaking slightly, "You didn't come. You didn't come home. I didn't- I don't know what to do when you're not home."

Dream shuddered, closing his eyes, "I never know." 

George wanted to kiss everything away.

Dream well knew that George was now there with him, alive, okay, heart beating at slow pace right next to his face, how breath picking his neck, hands around his back and lips resting right next to his temple. He was there, at home, not lost in the woods or captured by the kingdom, not laying dead in the snow to be found days later, not injured screaming in pain for help. He was there. But it wasn't enough to make him feel at ease for some reason, heart beating at his throat, mind still on how an hour ago he was silently crying on Nick's couch, wrapped with blankets and a pair of reassuring arms, the townspeople looking at him with pity almost while he went out to ask the watchers if they got any news for him. Holding him wasn't enough, for some reason, to finally relax. 

Dream's hair was tickling his chin, the boy buried himself even more into George's shoulder offering comfort, realness of some sort. Their hands remained together, flesh on flesh, a constant reminder to Dream that they were, at the end of the day, still together. His nose found his way in the crook of George's neck as it always did every night right before they fell completely asleep next to each other and the scent of burnt wood and fresh forest filled up his nostrils all at once; fresh forest was same as always but the burnt wood was an indicator of what had happened earlier. 

"I never know," Dream mumbled again, voice broken. 

And after all, George knew, didn't he? He knew how everyone promised to him that they would be back by dawn and don't show up even after sunset, he knew how he got separated from his family, he knew about the big fire, everything. George knew, after all, how he had been told that he wasn't alone, only to be left alone by the ones he trusted the most. "It's okay," he whispered weakly, hands caressing sides, fingers brushing the last of the knots away from blonde locks, lips pressing down on shoulders, finding exposed skin under layers of clothing. He knew, after all, that if he was gone too, Dream would be completely left alone. 

Of course, there was Sapnap, their best friend who Dream had known many years longer than he knew George, they fell asleep talking to each other through their wall knocks still, begging the leaders to send them on tower watch together, taking shifts together, spending time together, all three of them. Of course he was there and he wasn't going anywhere else either, George and Dream both knew, he was one knock at the door away if anything even dared to happen and he would be there to support both through anything. He knew that Dream probably spent the hours he was gone in sapnap's place next door, anxiety rushing in veins, probably wrapped inside the youngest one's safe arms, Sapnap hushing a song from their childhood with lost lyrics that they loved, telling over and over that George would be okay, that he would come back soon, that he didn't leave alone and the watch team couldn't be all lost. 

But Sapnap isn't George. sapnap couldn't kiss everything away all at once. Sapnap could promise a future together, but not in the way that George could- and already did. 

"I'm here," George replied back, all he could do was to remind him that, all he could do was to squeeze his hand, strengthen his fingers on his back, hush a sob away. "Dream- Clay. I'm here." 

He slightly pulled back to press a soft kiss to the younger's temple, so soft that it's almost not there but the feeling lingered achingly for Dream, warm lips on trembling skin, burning perfectly. His lips then moved to the scar next to his left ear, fingers tenderly pushing blonde locks being his ear and tucking them away, lips staying on the scar longer than before. Dream felt his eyelids growing heavy with relief, his chest relaxing from the death grip on his heart, worry shuffling away from them and out the window. With the knots in his stomach coming to an end, he sighed a shaky exhale away, George pulling his lips away from the scar to finally look at him again.

"You called me Clay," he reached out his unoccupied hand to cup George's face, his cheek fitting right into his hand, cheekbone under his thumb. George's eyes grew lidded as he leaned into the hold, seeing the boy visibly relax made something bubble up in his throat; a mix of guilt and relief combined in the most bittersweet way possible. It sunk deep in his stomach along with the butterflies as Dream traced over the small bruise on his cheek lightly with his thumb, a tiny shot of pain soothing away as fast as it came when he leaned in to kiss the soft purple forming already. 

Dream's previous statement -which was more of a question than anything else- felt like it was said hours ago, George was too relieved to be home to answer properly and Dream was too tired to worry more about it but still wanted an answer, his boyfriend did not particularly like calling him by his real name. He couldn't understand why now, of all moments, that it slipped out of his lips.

"George?" he hummed under his breath, faces close to each other since Dream refused to pull away after kissing the bruise, George's face breaking into a slight blush, the purple of the bruise on his cheek stinging, clear as day. Dream could kiss him until all his scars were gone but knew, of course, that it was impossible. He pulled his hand away from George's and cupped the boy's hand with both hands feeling the skin under his touch slightly warm up even more, a hazy pink reflected the sunrise from the early morning, stars still present in the sky and also in George's brown eyes. Dream felt safe. Dream felt safe as he tucked George's short hair behind his ear, mirroring the kiss on the bruise to his other cheek, feeling George's warm skin under his burning lips. "Hm?" George answered, suddenly feeling as if he was drunk, eyelids copying the motion of Dream's, slow and lazy. 

"Why did you call me Clay?"

Not that he was complaining, really.

Dream and Sapnap were nicknames that they gave each other at the camp - that they were both scouted for training later on- they met as children, some silly joke between the kids making them feel like kingdom's messengers on secret missions. It didn't hold that much meaning when they first gave them to each other, inspired by nothing but a panda -they thought it was a magical bear since they had never seen pandas before- which was their camp symbol and a weird reoccurring dream that Clay kept seeing for a week straight. Although it helped them a lot afterwards, using them for actual secrecy this time after their training was done, working as hitmen for whoever was willing to pay money. No one stayed around after training anyways, George never saw anyone stay loyal to the organization after ripping children away from their families at such a young age to raise killers. Dream said it was just a job. 

It was another conversation for another day.

"Not for any particular reason..." George mumbled, leaning in to give Dream a tiny peck on the lips, finally giving in to the ache in his heart, the longing on his fingertips only stopped whenever they were wrapped around the younger's messy locks. His mind eased off pulling away from the short kiss, eyes still closed; he felt Dream wrap his arms around his waist, pulling him closer. "It's always for a particular reason George." 

They both knew it was correct, and George could see the curiosity leaking out from Dream's half-closed eyelids, waiting for an answer, hands traveling up his back, lips reconnecting with a slow hum of contentment. Kissing Dream always succeeded in making his mind go blank, train of thoughts already lost under layers of nothingness, just lips together and the low humming vibration that filled the emptiness around them. He couldn't even remember who he was for a moment, searching for some indication of life in his subconscious; he only knew Dream at moments like that. 

Dream who smelled like the soap they use to wash clothes, Dream who liked to show off the patterns he carved into his dagger, Dream who liked to swim in the river with the rest of the children in the town, Dream who had no ounce of respect to the organization but still helped with the training of the young ones, Dream who's proud of the semi burnt bread he bakes every morning, Dream who talks to George in his sleep, Dream who likes to cuddle, with the rough hands and rough lips and rough everywhere but soft hair, melting in his touch, pulling him closer, tilting his chin so he can kiss him further, Dream, Clay. Clay who said every day before they went to sleep, "I'm yours. You know that." 

Clay that was his.

George didn't like to call Dream Clay. He did not give any reasoning to do so at first, not as kids, not as teenagers, not until Dream literally pleaded for him to provide an explanation. Until then all his questions were shrugged away with a simple "I'm not used to it" or "It's not a big deal" but it must've been a big deal since George refused it so harshly. He did not call him Clay once until then, nor called Sapnap Nick, the boys always referred to each other by their real names when they were hanging out together and left the nicknames for more important matters, but George didn't want to. Sapnap really couldn't care less, it wasn't a big deal for him but for Dream who had an enormous aching heart for the said boy, it kind of hurt to not get any explanation whatsoever.

"It reminds me that you are not untouchable," George had said fidgeting with his fingers sitting on the edge of the bed, they still lived at the community house dorms back then, sharing rooms with 4 more people stacked on bunk beds did not give them the needed privacy. Dream could still remember his glossy eyes while he forced words out, knees jumping up and down uncontrollably out of stress, hands trembling as Dream held them in place, he couldn't have thought it would've been this much of an issue. Now, as he crouched in front of the shaky boy, obviously deep in whatever was haunting his mind, he was extremely guilty of even pushing it this forward. 

George had stretched his hand to take one of his, the feeling of fingers touching together new as spring as butterflies spread all around their insides, "It reminds me that you're not invincible. Dream is the one who wins four versus one hand combats. Clay is not. Dream is the one who comes home every day, covered in dirt or blood, most importantly alive. Clay isn't. Dream is the hitman," his other hand traveled up to cup Dream's -Clay's, he thought to himself- cheek. "Clay isn't."

"Clay is just a little boy, Dream. Clay is a vulnerable, lonely, hurt little boy. I can't get myself to wait for Clay to come home every day, I can't do that to you. I have to trust that Dream will protect us as he promised to do so. I have to think of Dream in his metal armor everytime you're sent away on a mission, or else, or else I will have to accept that you're no more immortal than anyone else.”

Dream snapped out of the uncomfortable memory as he pulled away from the kiss, foreheads touching together like they always do, routine. Dream closed his eyes, lost in everything clouding his head but George always kept his eyelids slightly open, almost as if to confirm that he was actually there. "You like it when I call you Clay..." His hot breath hung between them, air thickening, Dream leaning in to give him another small kiss. 

"But you don't like to call me Clay." Kissing him did make everything better, George was definitely not kidding when he said he would kiss everything better for him, and he was succeeding. Just being able to close his eyes and feel fingers curling in his hair was enough relief to put him to sleep without worrying about any nightmares.

George was right, Dream did like it when he called him Clay. It felt special for some reason, it felt special that George knew Dream's actual name. No one else in the town -other than Sapnap of course- knew his real name, and even if they heard it no one would dare to refer to him with it. Dream, as Dream, had a stronger aura, he needed to be strong as Dream, he needed to be feared, he needed to be taken seriously. But Clay was just a boy who liked to wrestle with his friends and sleep on the left side of the bed saying that it's softer there. George calling him Clay gave this sense of safety, this sense of belonging; home. He didn't carry the responsibilities that Dream does as Clay. Just Clay. Who's only responsibility was to love his best friends. Hush Sapnap to sleep after missions and kiss heartaches away.

George sighed deeply, pulling their foreheads apart. He stared into the other's for a long moment, Dream didn't complain or look away knowing well that he was putting his sentences together before he choked over everything like last time. He just waited, drawing tiny circles on George's thigh with his fingers, tracing dagger scars along his arms, massaging his palm slowly. He knew George was now willing to give an answer so he would wait as much as he needed. George sighed again, letting his head fall onto Dream's shoulder, an unexpected giggle bursting out from the other making his cheeks warm up. "Now you're making fun of me." Dream laughed again, pulling him to a hug, large hands going up and down on his sides, "I'm not, I'm not. Go on."

George was glad he was laughing instead of looking at him with glossy eyes. The latter burnt holes in his heart.

Words choking inhales away, eyes pressed together as if it would take all the worries away, a kiss planted on top of dirty hair, barely even there, fingers curling on the cloth of an old shirt; George felt his head go numb as he prepared to force the words out. He had been thinking about this a lot. A lot more than he would like to admit and a lot more than he would even like to do so, but he did. He thought about it while Dream was fast asleep next to him, he thought about it on tower watches, he thought about it while Sapnap prepared them dinner, he thought about it whenever he was left alone with his thoughts.

The possibility of death was as red and choking as a newborn child.

"I want you to know that you don't have to be Dream around me. You can be Clay," he inhaled a sharp breath, trying to get rid of the fact that they were mortal. 

"Just Clay."

A whisper. A murmur. Hands clenching in hair, faces hiding in shoulders, a moment of nothingness where everything stops, where everything is nothing and nothing is there, silence and loudness all at the same time, a pause in time where everything just disappears into a ringing in ears and then- 

A giggle. 

It sounded like a promise being broken for good. 

And then Clay was pulling away, with the biggest and sloppiest grin on his face, cupping George's face covered with worry, seeing through all his anxiety, seeing through all his cells, all his limbs, all his thoughts; seeing through all he is and ever was, leaving George more feeling naked than ever, and smashing their lips together instantly. George yelped in surprise, Clay's grin making it harder to return the kiss back, a deep inhale for both boys and George almost gave in and laughed as well. Seeing Clay shut his eyes tightly -cute, George couldn't help but think-, George, for the first time since their first ever kiss, closed his eyes completely while slightly smiling into the kiss, lips curling along Clay's. Maybe not fitting like puzzle pieces like they've always been told but absolutely and utterly, 

content.

"Say it again," Clay mumbled, breaking the kiss.

"Just Clay."

Maybe it wasn’t a big deal to anyone else in the world but for Clay who couldn’t even stop smiling to kiss properly, it was a freeing of restrictions almost. For George who closed his eyes for the first time to trust into the kiss, it was letting all the night terrors go.

Clay wanted to put George in a little box and hide him in his heart forever, so when Dream dies they could go together without the possibility of one of them being left behind. Clay wanted to press himself into George's chest and breathe in the scent of worn leather until eternity and until George parted away from him with a smile, until the last sun set in the horizon and until the last wind blew his hair off of his eyes; until the last of them stood on earth. 

Clay wanted to stay in this exact moment forever and ever, all the worries of only half an hour ago buried deep into ground because his lover sat in front of him all alive and well, not burnt to ashes, with a huge smile that showed all his teeth that looked like he just stopped laughing with eyes carrying any and every emotion that could ever be felt, Clay wanted to stop the time to count the stars aligned on George's eyelashes. He wanted to stop time so he could rewind to the moment he peeked through a haze and saw George shutting his eyes tightly and unknowingly smiling into the kiss, he wanted to rewind and feel him cradle him in his arms, planting kisses on his hair while he hopelessly shivered. Rewind time to feel the relief when the watch team finally showed up from the woods, one of the leaders' squeezing his arm as George walked a tad faster to finally bury himself in Clay's arms.

Clay wanted to stop time as George let their foreheads bump into each other with a thud, the two falling back on the bed.

"You scared me to death today, know that right?" Clay planted a quick kiss on George's forehead while frowning in fake anger. "You acting all sweet and lovely won't change that." 

"Oh, so you think I'm acting sweet." George's hand slid up and down the other's cheek, caressing dried tear marks from hours ago's stress and worry. He kissed everything away though, or so he thought, even if he failed there was always room for more kisses on Clay's face anyways. He would kiss him until it was enough, even if it was never.

That would only make things a million times better. 

The morning sun draped over them from behind the white and currently ineffective curtains, lanterns coming to an end above the bed; Clay's eyes glistened in the small sunshine like they did every morning and George was struck with the fluttering feeling of familiarity. The sound of the smile forming on his lips, the way his eyes glistened as the room was filled in an early morning laziness, hands clasped on George's back as their foreheads laid together on the soft pillow they currently shared. It was as if they had just woken up, his hands brushing blonde locks away, Clay's eyes growing into crescents with the light, a small kiss shared under mumbles of love and promises. 

Mumbles of promises, clear as day to the ones who were willing to listen; 

"I love you," a small smile, a small, pink smile, a small, pink kiss, a small, pink moment of just them. 

And then, "-and I'll love you forever."

Mixed with a bit of "-and I'm going to be here forever." 

'I'll protect you forever,' Dream used to say. Clay thought expressing his love was enough this time.

"I do think that you're sweet," voiced an answer to the question from moments ago, a kiss longer than others, "I think you're the sweetest." It smelled like something from George's childhood, candy he got from his grandmother maybe or a riddle he used to sing on his way to town, some familiar tune was stuck into the words falling from Clay's lips. A song he had forgotten, perhaps, there was a melody he once knew hidden in the shake of Clay's shoulders whenever he laughed, whenever he just sat and stared, whenever he would smile in the way that he just did. As if they it was only two of them left, as if he wanted to-

"-stay in this moment forever." 

It was cheesy. It made George's skin crawl in the most heart wrenching way possible. It was unfiltered, cliche, perfect. It was perfect.

Everything seemed to be so, whenever they could embrace each other. 

"Don't ever scare me like that. You're not going anywhere, George, you can't. You won't," it was more of a plea than anything, sounded like an order but inside there was a lonely child trying to act tough. George let him nuzzle into the crook of his neck after giving him a peck on the nose, "I know you won't." 

Because god knew it was really the only thing he was certain of. 

"I won't. as long as you're just Clay and i'm just George, I'm not going anywhere."

**Author's Note:**

> if you came until here, thank you! i wrote this whole thing because i needed some fluff in my system so then it turned into a whole brain rot oneshot. anyways, hope you enjoyed! it would mean a lot to me if you commented, i'd like some criticism or just kimd words :))


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